


i clipped my wings and fell from flight

by elliptical



Series: unbecoming jordan hennessy [9]
Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Chronic Pain, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28059720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Jordan murmured.  She hadn’t stopped her movements, and she didn’t seem angry about the display.  That was nice. “I’m so, so sorry.  I meant to be there.  I should have been there.  I’m here now, I’m sorry.”
Relationships: Trinity (Dreamer Trilogy) & Jordan (Dreamer Trilogy)
Series: unbecoming jordan hennessy [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052732
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	i clipped my wings and fell from flight

Trinity’s waking hurt. 

The waking wasn’t _supposed_ to hurt. None of the others had been damaged in the journey from dream to reality. The pain made no sense, aligned with no data, offered no explanation. 

But the world hadn’t played by the rules for a long time. When you fucked around with magic, you had to accept the consequences.

Trinity woke up, and there was her body, and there was the world, and there was the pain.

She didn’t comprehend the sensation right away. Something about her body felt... sideways, like her soul was a little smaller than her bones. None of the others had struggled with their corporeal form, either, but Trinity spent a long time familiarizing herself with her limbs.

There was external input, after that, sensory data. She came to recognize the rough gravel below her cheek. Asphalt. She recognized the soft warmth of a body behind her, hugging her, keeping her. She recognized the chilly air against her exposed skin. She noted the placement of her body parts - her limbs, fingers, toes, ribs, throat, face. Eyes and ears and mouth and nose, checked off the list, the chorus of a children’s song. Her hair was so matted and roughened with grit that she thought she might have to chop it off; it stuck to her cheek and the back of her neck in ragged clumps. 

This levered the first true pang of distress. She didn’t want to cut her hair.

The pain nestled in every cavern of her body, a shadow below her skin. Worst was the pounding in her head. It throbbed like a dance beat, pulsing between her temples and at the base of her skull. Her shoulders, too, ached like a bad night’s sleep. A fiery tongue lapped at her mid-back.

She thought that she could stand. Quiet sounds of traffic rumbled in the distance, crickets chirping near her left ear. She thought that the pavement was a dangerous place to be. Even if no cars approached, they’d be easily spotted. She thought that they needed to hide - her and the girl with her.

She tried to move.

She could not stand. 

Okay. That was okay. She rolled over, carefully, to plead for her companion’s help. _Hennessy,_ she remembered, suddenly, as though she’d ever known the name before. “Hennessy,” she whispered aloud.

Hennessy remained still. Her eyes were half-open and glazed white, but that didn’t obscure the black awfulness dribbling from the sockets. It marred her entire face - her cheekbones streaked like tears, her temples coated like war paint. More ooze dripped sluggishly from her nostrils. A stagnant lake of char overflowed her mouth, drooled past her parted lips, puddled on the pavement.

She looked dead. Trinity fumbled to place her awkward fingertips below Hennessy’s jaw, and renewed pain frayed her nerves. Just as she found the pulse, Hennessy released a long, rattling breath. Her inhale burbled. She did not choke on the rank-smelling decay, but her exhale was a plaintive cry.

Trinity thought she should call for help. But she didn’t know whether her cry would alert friends or enemies, and both girls were defenseless. Weak. Ruined. She closed her eyes and lay still. 

The minutes sloughed around them like peeling flesh. Hennessy’s paralysis must have worn off, but she didn’t move. Her willpower mirrored Trinity’s own. Defeat. Learned helplessness.

They might die here, Trinity thought, and couldn’t muster the appropriate fear.

Then yellow brightness blazed against her eyelids. Even without opening her eyes, the light was murder; she cried out. “Oh, God,” someone said, and pounding footsteps drew closer, and someone else hissed, “Get them off the fucking _driveway._ ”

The world swum away. Trinity must have been conscious for the next blacked-out moments, but she couldn’t recall a thing. She knew that someone must have carried or supported her over the threshold of the mansion. She knew that she must have traversed several hallways to reach the bathroom where she woke. The room’s layout was some geometric anomaly, customized mosaic tile creating a perfect spiral, and the tub in the center was bigger than God.

She knew that someone else must have run the water, because she didn’t understand the taps. She knew that someone else must have helped her undress, because her clumsy fingers couldn’t grip the cloth.

She knew these things, but she didn’t _remember_ them. 

Her next conscious moment came with the heat of the bath. Her body sank into the tub, muscles weeping with relief, grime loosening from her skin. The water curled around her like a baptism, absolution, though she didn’t think she was religious. She tipped her head back against the side and hummed, closing her eyes.

“Hey,” said a voice behind her. “Returning to the land of the living? Good. Just a dizzy spell, no matter - we all get them. I’m Jordan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Trinity swallowed. Her throat hurt. She didn’t understand why - she didn’t remember screaming. Maybe the blackout had stolen that, too. “Hi.”

“You got a rough start.” Jordan sounded rueful, but not worried. That was good. Comforting. Trinity appreciated people who could take control. She liked others to be in charge. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why she - it was like that the last time, too. I’ll have a few stern words with her. I should have been here for you. Here, sit up. Just a little.”

She guided Trinity’s head up so that her neck tilted back against the lip of the tub. 

“You’re moving funny,” Jordan said. “Where does it hurt?”

For some reason, tears began to trickle from the corners of Trinity’s eyes, even though she wasn’t upset. “Everywhere.”

“I’ll fetch some ibuprofen in a bit. Try to avoid the stronger stuff. We’re not great with impulse control.”

Something cool touched the space above Trinity’s ear. Then viscous liquid began to dribble downward.

The image of Hennessy’s un-bloody hemorrhage flashed behind Trinity’s eyes. She jerked with alarm. That was a mistake, if the violent supernova in her head was any indicator. The surface of the water rippled, waves sloshing against her body, miniature tsunamis.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Jordan said quickly, “it’s only conditioner. I promise. I swear. I’m sorry, I... You took a tumble, that’s all. Your hair’s a mess.”

Trinity was not certain she _had_ ‘taken a tumble.’ That descriptor more aptly described Hennessy’s plight. All the same, she forced herself to relax, focusing on the comforting warmth of the bathwater, and the process of conditioning her hair became almost hypnotic. Jordan’s fingers separated unknotted coils to coat them, the hydrating mask drawing out the fire in Trinity’s scalp. The bathroom’s dim blue lights shimmered and danced on the water, the walls. The scene could be a fever dream.

As Jordan began to work a comb through the worst of the now-conditioned mats, Trinity started to cry.

Proper crying, this time, not the nonsensical leakage of before. It was not a conscious action. It wasn’t exactly an _unconscious_ action, either. She was tired, and the care felt so fucking good, and she wanted the aching to cease. She didn’t know how to stop blubbering, and she didn’t care about her dignity, so she cried like a child.

“I’m sorry,” Jordan murmured. She hadn’t stopped her movements, and she didn’t seem angry about the display. That was nice. “I’m so, so sorry. I meant to be there. I should have been there. I’m here now, I’m sorry.”

Trinity didn’t understand. Why did Jordan feel guilty? Jordan wasn’t the one who’d hurt her. Jordan was beautiful, and kind, and selfless, and everything Trinity needed her to be.

Trinity hiccupped. “It’s all my fault,” she sobbed.

“What’s your fault?”

“ _Everything._ ” 

Even as she said it, Trinity knew that this meant nothing. She’d existed for hours; the history spanned years. Another girl’s regret clogged her throat, drowned her lungs, and Trinity spoke for her guilt.

But she wasn’t a blameless victim, either. “What h- what happened,” she explained. “To her. Outside. How - how she was. All the black, the black stuff. Everything wrong in us. My back hurts so much. I did it to her. I did it. Taking me did it. It’s my fault.”

“ _You_ didn’t make her sick.” Something dark lurked below that sentiment. Trinity didn’t understand the hidden meaning, and she didn’t want to. She wanted the softer Jordan. She didn’t want the Jordan who buried all their bodies and pretended it was fine.

She said nothing.

“If anything,” Jordan added, “you’re a side effect. The illness took her first. Not to worry. We all come to terms with the side effect status. Easy to make the best of it, with the right mindset.”

This didn’t make Trinity feel better. Jordan seemed to realize that, because she quieted, scritching her fingertips lightly against Trinity’s scalp. An apology, maybe. A reprieve.

They were both silent for a time, as Trinity dozed and Jordan finished fixing her hair.

Jordan was combing through the final knot when Trinity murmured, “I’m one of the last, aren’t I?”

Jordan paused. Her breathing changed. She returned to the knot, but not fast enough for Trinity to believe her unbothered. 

“ _The_ last, I think,” Jordan said lightly.

Trinity flinched. “But the flowers.”

Thirteen flowers. She wasn’t sure how she knew the number. Another piece of trivia from the mind of Hennessy. She touched her inked throat.

“No,” Jordan said.

“We’re _all_ dying.” Trinity sniffled. “If she’d never dreamed me-”

“Stop that,” Jordan growled, fierce, zero trace of her earlier softness. “We’re going to be _fine._ Pull yourself together. I’ve been working on it. I’ve got a plan. I know how to fix it.”

Trinity twisted around to look Jordan in the face. There was nothing but hardened resolve in her eyes. “You’re going to fix us?”

There, in Jordan’s eyes, the tiniest flicker of doubt. Then the steel took over. “I am,” Jordan said. “I’m going to fix everything. I promise.”

So maybe Trinity could survive a little while longer.


End file.
